THE last time I realised my toilet paper was finished was when I was already on the toilet and it was too late. I vowed I would never let that happen again. So, this time when I saw one lonely roll remaining in the cupboard I grabbed my wallet and headed out. This time I was going to be prepared.
The sun peeked through the clouds for the first time in almost a week, which I took as a promising sign for how the day would play out. With the slightest spring in my step I made my way to Top Mart to buy my toilet paper.
I only took about five steps from my flat’s entrance when I noticed something on the ground just ahead of me. Something pink. It looked like a huge wad of chewed gum or a newly born rat or something. But what were all those white things in it?
Teeth. An entire upper gum complete with all teeth, speckled with dirt and sand. It irked me; it looked like a human version of the Cheshire Cat was smiling at me. I walked on and tried to erase the dirty smile from my mind.
On the way I passed a lady who walked her dog along that road every day. She wore the same denim waistcoat, black pants and shocking pink *takkies every time I saw her. And her scrawny, brown dog wore the same leather shoes every time I saw it. The ridiculous shoes made the dog walk like a miniature show horse. Awkwardly elegant it half scampered, half pranced beside her, the clip-clopping of the shoes ringing out on the empty road. It stopped to sniff at the teeth and they trotted on.
***
The familiar beeping of tills and squealing of trolley wheels greeted me as I entered Top Mart. I headed straight for the toilet paper aisle, picked the first one which had the number ‘3’ printed on the packaging, assuming it meant ‘3 ply’, and then headed straight for the till.
“Annyeonghaseyo,” the cashier chirped. But before I could say hello, somewhere around me what sounded like you’ve-just-hit-the-jackpot music rang out, making me jump slightly. Did I win the lotto without even playing it? You never know in Korea.
“Chuk-ha-ham-nida!” (Congratulations!) the cashier shouted at me followed by a single clap.
She left the till and entered a small side room nearby, leaving me alone with my imagination, which by now was running wild with the possibilities of what my prize would be. She exited a minute later and beamed at me. Her left hand clutched a piece of paper while her right hand held a box of tissues. She waved the piece of paper in front of my face and pointed at it. It was my slip. She then gestured toward the box of tissues and said, “son-mul”, Korean for “gift”. I was the winner of some sort of lucky draw. And my prize was a box of tissues. I tried to look elated with my gift, said my *kamsamnidas and turned to exit.
Just then an elderly man stormed in. His face was almost as red as the tomatoes in his left hand. He halted just inside the entrance, his packet of tomatoes swaying violently from the abrupt stop. And then he screamed.
Top Mart fell silent. The jackpot music stopped. One customer, who was in the middle of packing her frozen chicken into a packet, stopped, the frozen chicken stuck in midair. The cashiers, busy jabbing buttons at the tills, stopped. Even the Top Mart announcer, who was blaring the specials of the day through a microphone, stopped.
The sudden silence meant the angry customer’s shouting was amplified at this point. His arms waved wildly, his packet of tomatoes swished this way and that through the air, making it look like he was conducting an invisible orchestra with the tomatoes instead of a baton. Finally the manager emerged looking thoroughly confused and panicky. He started for the angry customer’s right hand and it was only then that I noticed the customer was holding something in his right hand.
Just when I wondered what the small white punnet contained, he threw it with all his might to the floor. The manager yelled in frustration as his pants and shoes were splashed with something I couldn’t make out.
I wasn’t sure how long I had been standing there, but the toilet paper started to weigh my hands down. I put it down and stepped closer to the scene, pretending to look at the watermelon on sale.
I smelt it before I saw it: ocean. I looked at the floor and saw mussels and squid strewn everywhere. A piece of squid was splattered on the manager’s shoe. Someone had already been summoned to mop up the mess. I watched as the tentacles were swiped away by the mop’s tentacles while the manager tried and failed to calm the angry customer, who was still raging to no one in particular. He continued to point furiously at the mussels and squid as if he were angry at someone else for causing such a stinky mess. Finally, after about five minutes, his heavy breathing eased, the redness in his face reduced and he allowed the manager to usher him into the little side room.
A lady carrying a punnet identical to the angry customer’s knocked on the little side room’s door hesitantly. The manager emerged, took the punnet gratefully and offered it to the angry customer, who grabbed it with a grunt of acknowledgement. He muttered one final swear word before marching out the shop. The cashiers giggled and went back to scanning items while the cleaner mopped up the last bit of squid juice on the floor.
I watched as the angry customer trod home with his new mussels and squid safely secured under his arm. I waited for him to be a good distance away before I made my own way home.
Back in the quiet of my flat I ambled over to my cupboard to unload my toilet paper.
The toilet paper. I forgot it at the shop.
Good thing I won that box of tissues.
*takkies: Sneakers, trainers, running shoes
*kamsamnida: thank you
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